


where you left me

by Strawberry_Champagne



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Bisexual Disaster Alex Claremont-Diaz, Canon Compliant, Liam Puts Up with So Much, M/M, Non-Explicit Consensual Sexual Content, Pining, Pre-Canon, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberry_Champagne/pseuds/Strawberry_Champagne
Summary: Parents love Alex and, honestly, that’s their first mistake.It might be because he’s the student council president (and lacrosse co-captain, and member of half a dozen or so other clubs and committees that he only remembers by the grace of Google Calendar), but any adult that meets Alex once walks away with the impression that he’s a very mature and trustworthy young man.They’re half right.Alex and his best friend Liam have a different kind of history. A story told in moments throughout their senior year of high school.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Alex Claremont-Diaz/Liam, Liam/Spencer
Comments: 22
Kudos: 140





	where you left me

_1_

Call ended and phone set to the side, Liam drops his head into his hands, pushing fingers roughly through his hair.

“You okay, babe?”

Spencer is watching him cautiously, radiating concern. Liam exhales sharply through his nose.

“Yeah, I will be. Just. Fuck.”

The short conversation rattles around in his skull, bits of it replaying over and over, out of order like some weird remix track.

_Did we have, like, a thing? Did I miss that?_

_I’m sorry._

_…a thing?_

_Sorry, sorry, sorry._

“Alex Claremont-Diaz, you asshole,” Liam growls, probably a little too loudly. Some of the restaurant’s other patrons glance over in alarm, probably wondering who dares to bad-mouth their hometown golden boy. Well, they don’t know the whole story. They didn’t spend high school hopelessly in love with their infuriatingly oblivious best friend.

Spencer makes a sympathetic noise and nudges the forgotten Bloody Mary across the table toward Liam. And holy hell, does he need it.

Moving the garnish to the side to navigate the straw, Liam takes a long drink, the zesty heat warming him from the inside out. The edges of his agitation smooth out a bit, blur into something he can approach.

So, the facts. Something happened that made Alex realize that he was less than one hundred percent straight (no shit). But, in classic fashion, he had to seek validation of his own damn sexuality from the one person he really shouldn’t have been bothering about it. And the worst part is that Liam is pretty sure Alex still doesn’t really know _what_ he was apologizing for.

Hit with the absurdity of the entire situation, Liam laughs out loud, which only makes Spencer look more worried. And once he starts laughing, he kind of can’t stop.

“Jesus,” he finally says, breathless, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “He really didn’t know?”

_2_

hey Liam, have you heard of rule 34?

_11:34 a.m._

Nope. Is this a Fight Club thing? I told you, I don’t wanna watch that movie.

_11:41 a.m._

no, no. not at all.

(but you should definitely watch fight club)

_11:50 a.m._

_…._

…Go on.

_12:01 p.m._

so okay, rule 34 basically means that’s there’s porn of everything you can think of

including famous people, parodies of TV shows, movies, etc.

so if there’s porn inspired by you, you’ve made it, basically

_12:05 p.m._

oh good god

_12:08 p.m._

“That doesn’t sound anatomically possible.”

Alex sighs dramatically, pulling the laptop screen down again.

“Liam,” he says, “Can you just suspend your disbelief for two seconds so we can get through this story?”

“It’s shitty writing, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Yeah, well. Take it up with… AmericanDreamsRPFLover?”

Liam snorts. “I’ll pass. And really, this is narcissistic, even for you.”

“I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that. This is _amazing_. And hilarious. And like… okay, is it weird if this is turning me on a little bit?”

“ _Yes_.”

They should really be studying, is the thing. They have an AP History midterm in less than a week, and Alex is driving Liam bananas with all of these distractions. He’d said he was coming over with flashcards, and instead they’re reading a fictionalized version of Alex about to really get into it with some girl.

Or, with the Reader. ‘You.’ Liam isn’t entirely sure how these stories are supposed to work. Something to do with find-and-replace. Either way, Alex is way too into it.

“Look, I’m bored, sorry. Call me when there’s real porn inspired by your life.”

Alex cackles. He loves it when Liam is catty.

“God, can you imagine?” Alex grins, clearly doing just that. “Hey, I bet there’s already political porn out there. How have I never thought to look that up before?”

And that’s how they end up watching bits and pieces of videos with naked people who start out in business suits and pencil skirts, filmed against green screens to make it look like they are in the Oval Office or a private room off the Senate floor. Some of it features Presidential lookalikes, which Liam finds unsettling. There’s even gay porn, with one that’s clearly inspired by up-and-comer Rafael Luna, a friend of Alex’s dad — it has to be Liam’s imagination that Alex’s cursor hovers over that one for just a little too long.

After they’ve been watching videos for about fifteen minutes, Alex starts squirming a bit, sitting up to adjust his pants in the totally unsubtle way that guys do. Liam clears his throat.

“Do you need to, uh.” He nods at Alex’s lap without directly looking at it. “Take care of that?”

They both start laughing, for some reason – the situation is so awkward that it’s needed, and cuts some of the tension.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I thought I could just watch this. But we could totally. Y’know. It’s a thing guys do together sometimes. I read an article about it somewhere.”

“I think I saw something like that on Reddit once, yeah,” Liam drawls.

And this could be perfectly normal, he thinks. Two best friends, on adjacent beanbag chairs with a laptop between them, just doing their thing and happening to be in the same room while they’re doing it. It’s not weird. It doesn’t have to be a “gay thing.”

Sure.

_3_

Parents love Alex and, honestly, that’s their first mistake.

It might be because he’s the student council president (and lacrosse co-captain, and member of half a dozen or so other clubs and committees that he only remembers by the grace of Google Calendar), but any adult that meets Alex once walks away with the impression that he’s a very mature and trustworthy young man.

They’re half right.

At the end of the day, Alex can’t get in too much trouble. Nothing that sticks, at least. Can’t be the youngest U.S. Senator with a closet full of skeletons and scandals.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t skirt the line a bit.

“Do y’all have any shot glasses?”

Liam blinks at him, takes in the bag that Alex is clutching to his chest, brown paper badly concealing the curves of a handle of whiskey. He heaves an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh and ushers him inside, glancing around as if any neighbors could possibly be watching them, or care.

“I don’t wanna know, I really don’t. How did you even — no. Nope. Mm-mm.”

He’s opening cabinets, though, glasses clinking as he pulls them forward. Alex grins and hooks his chin over Liam’s shoulder. (It’s not easy. He swears Liam gains an inch on him every year, the bastard.)

Liam shrugs him off, but he’s smiling that “what-the-hell-am-I-gonna-do-with-you” way he sometimes does.

“Dude, get off me. You almost made me drop my mom’s favorite mug. Ah. Here we go.”

He’s hooked two shot glasses on his fingers and lifts his hand with a raised eyebrow at Alex.

“Your room?”

“I mean, yeah.”

Liam’s parents are out of town for the weekend — they knew Alex was coming over, but obviously would never dream that he’d bring booze into their house for an underage bender.

(Whatever. Alex thinks the drinking age should be 18, anyway. You can buy cigarettes and go to war in America, but not buy a six-pack? That’s some bullshit.)

They set up on the floor, backs against Liam’s twin bed. Alex fills the shot glasses to the brim, a little spilling over onto his fingers.

“Watch it, I don’t wanna have to explain to my parents why the carpet smells like a country western bar,” Liam drawls.

“I got it,” says Alex. He wipes his hand on his jeans, then lifts his glass. “What should we drink to?”

Liam squints at the shot between his fingers,

“To bad ideas,” he says, one corner of his mouth twitching into an almost-smile.

“The worst,” Alex agrees, grinning wide and easy.

Their glasses meet with the tiniest clink, and then it’s down the hatch.

Shooting whiskey, it turns out, is not as easy as it looks.

“Holy shit,” Alex finally chokes out, mid-coughing fit. “That burns.”

Liam is too busy trying to breathe to respond.

“Goddamn,” says Alex. “Another?”

There are not, it turns out, a lot of drinking games that two guys their age can play on their own. Most of them involve either a lot more people, beer and some arrangement of cups, or both. They’ll just have to get creative.

“Never Have I Ever?”

“Nah, we know each other too well.”

“Shit, what other games are there. Uh. Spin the Bottle…”

“We have a 90% full bottle of whiskey. That shit isn’t spinning anywhere. Also, what the fuck.”

“It was a joke! Um, oh. Truth or dare.”

“You’re really determined to be a 13-year-old girl tonight, huh.” Liam chuckled. “Fine.”

Alex usually gets what he wants.

“Okay, so I dare you to —“

“Wait, that’s not how this game works. Aren’t I supposed to get a choice?”

Alex snaps his fingers. “Ah, right. Truth or dare, Liam?”

Liam tilts his head toward the ceiling, eyes closed, and rubs his hand across the stubble on his cheeks. After a moment, he exhales heavily.

“Fuck, okay. Dare.”

Alex grins triumphantly. There’s a nice floaty feeling from the whiskey, making him feel anything could happen. He stretches his arms up over his head, fingers laced together. Liam is watching him, a wariness in his eyes that Alex can only attribute to the unknown dare.

He honestly says it without thinking about it much. Maybe it was talking about Spin the Bottle that put the idea there. But for some reason, it feels right.

“I dare you… to kiss me.”

Something electric and nameless crackles in the air, like an unspoken taboo that you’re not supposed to acknowledge. Liam just stares at him and Alex almost takes it back, another bad joke.

“I need more alcohol for this, you dick,” Liam finally says, lunging forward to pour another shot. Alex laughs so hard he almost falls over.

He pours Alex one too, and they throw them back. As Liam sets his glass to the side, Alex thinks for a second that they’re just going to move on. He’s trying to decide if he should haze Liam for chickening out when he turns his head toward Alex, and oh. That’s Liam’s mouth on his.

So, a list:

One. Beards are scratchy and kind of tickle your upper lip.

Two. Kissing a guy isn’t all that different from kissing a girl. A little more firm, maybe.

Three. Kissing _Liam_ feels nice, and super normal, and Alex really wants to keep doing it.

(This means he can’t be gay. He didn’t think he was. He’s not.)

It’s just a long press of lips and Liam’s fingertips sliding along his jaw as he pulls away. Thing is, Alex isn’t done yet. He grabs a fistful of Liam’s button-down flannel to reel him in, a breath away from kissing him stupid when Liam suddenly goes stiff.

“What are you doing,” he says, low and serious. Alex lets go of his shirt, feeling his smile go lop-sided. The third shot is definitely hitting him, now.

“I don’t know, man. It’s something to do, right? There aren’t exactly any girls here to make out with.”

Something about saying this out loud settles like a ball of lead in Alex’s stomach, a feeling he doesn’t care to examine too closely. He laughs, instead, and flashes Liam a million-watt smile. The one with the dimples. Liam’s never been able to say no to that one.

“No,” Liam says with that molasses-slow drawl, and Alex’s breath catches in his throat. “There aren’t.”

“Good, so we agree.”

Alex knows he needs to shut up. It’s just that Liam has him fixed with this intense gaze that he doesn’t know what to do with, and his whole body feels warm and heavy, and he really, really wants to kiss him again.

“Guess so.”

“Great.”

But then Liam is standing up, pulling away from Alex, and that isn’t how this is supposed to go.

He reaches a hand out to help Alex to his feet.

“Shoes off,” he says, and Alex complies. They end up on Liam’s bed, legs tangled together on his tiny twin mattress, keeping a mutually agreed upon (if unspoken) distance between their hips, because that’s not what this is about.

There’s a strange time dilation effect from the booze — Alex isn’t sure if they make out lazily for twenty minutes or an hour, maybe more. And it should be weird, probably, to have your best guy friend’s tongue in your mouth, to know the sound he makes if you scrape your teeth across his bottom lip — but the most surprising thing to Alex is how weird it _isn’t._ He guesses it’s just a thing people do sometimes — blowing off steam, passing the time, something that’s inevitable if two guys their age spend enough time together.

After a while, his lips are almost numb, buzzing pleasantly, scraped from Liam’s stubble. He wonders if it will leave some tell-tale sign, but at the end of the day, he’s too blissed out to care.

_4_

The drunken make-out session is apparently a one-off fluke that they don’t talk about, even if it replays in Liam’s mind constantly. But the porn-watching, the jerking-off-next-to-each-other? It was never supposed to become a _thing_ , and yet somehow it does, leaving Liam constantly on edge whenever he and Alex hang out. Their study sessions are mostly unaffected, but any time they’re alone without plans it’s like this big, horny elephant in the room. The usual teenage ennui turns into “hey, do you wanna,” which turns into fake tits on a computer screen and Liam trying very hard not to watch Alex out of the corner of his eye.

It’s a rainy day in late spring, and the over-dramatic moaning isn’t quite loud enough to cover the downpour and tree branches lashing against the bedroom window. The video they’d clicked on is worse than usual, and it really isn’t doing much for Liam — the girl doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself, and the guy… well, he’s not Liam’s type, if he’s being honest with himself. Too greasy; overly macho.

Alex sighs and pauses the video. Clearly, he’s on the same page. (About it being bad, at least. Not the part about the guy. Probably.)

He scrolls through the porn site looking for something else and starts talking like he always does, like he can’t help but release whatever random thought is in his head.

“You ever, like. Do the ‘Stranger’?”

Liam thinks he already knows where this is going, but still.

“What.”

“Yeah, that thing where you sit on your own arm or something until it falls asleep? Then you, y’know.” He makes a vaguely masturbatory motion above his own crotch, which is still half-unzipped.

“No,” says Liam. Alex snorts.

“You don’t have to sound so offended about it. Desperate times, et cetera.”

“I’m not that desperate.”

“Brag.”

Liam rolls his eyes.

“Hey, genius. You don’t have to pretend someone else is touching you.”

“Hm?” Alex has queued up the next video and is reclining again on the beanbag chair, sliding his hand back into his jeans.

Before he lets himself think about it too much, Liam reaches over and loosely grabs Alex’s wrist. Their eyes meet — Alex arches one brow in momentary surprise, then shrugs minutely.

So, okay. This is happening.

Liam isn’t sure where the bravery comes from; it’s like watching from somewhere outside his own body. Someone who looks just like him is reaching to his bedside table for the pump-bottle of lotion. Someone else is touching his best friend, marveling at the sensation.

For once, Liam lets himself look, taking it all in — Alex Claremont-Diaz, too goddamn pretty for his own good. Tension in his square jawline, long eyelashes shadowing dark eyes, filthy nonsense spilling from his smart mouth.

It doesn’t take long. Liam finds out what Alex’s face looks like when someone makes him feel like _that_ and knows it will be burned into his memory forever.

Liam excuses himself to go down the hall to the bathroom to wash his hands. He abruptly feels sick, kneels by the toilet and vomits as quietly as he can manage. When that’s done, he rinses his mouth at the sink and stares into the mirror for a while. He doesn’t look any different, but everything feels like it is.

When Liam gets back to his room, Alex is browsing Netflix like nothing ever happened. Eventually, he goes home. He doesn’t return the favor.

_5_

The lake’s surface reflects a thousand points of summer light, glinting off the ripples from a pair of Jet Skis that zipped across it a few minutes before. June is lying on her stomach on a beach towel reading, legs bent and kicking lazily. Nora has her laptop out, because of course she does, absorbed in the latest poll numbers. And Alex? Alex is restless and itching for the best kind of trouble.

Two weeks ago, Ellen Claremont tapped long-time Capitol ally Mike Holleran as her Presidential running mate. To celebrate both their partnership and the nation’s Independence Day, his granddaughter Nora invited everyone up to her family’s cabin on the Wrightsville Reservoir, just north of Montpelier. Cabin is a bit of a misnomer, other than the (very Lincoln) rounded-log façade. The place is a sprawling, three-story affair with double balconies to watch the sunrise over the pines.

What can Alex say? The Hollerans have money, honey. Not every political ascendance is a Cinderella story.

Scrolling through his phone, Alex watches Nora out of the corner of his eye. They’ve been on-again, off-again throughout the campaign, and he’s not exactly sure where they landed after the veep pick. Maybe they’ll hook up later in one of the cabin’s ten bedrooms. Maybe she’ll bring up the fact that he’s starting at Georgetown in a matter of months, needs to concentrate on his studies and cultivating his image if ( _when_ ) his mom is elected. He’ll push back on this, she’ll push harder, and then they won’t talk until one of them sends a _RuPaul’s Drag Race_ meme to the other at 3 in the morning. Or not. Either way, it’s chill.

A shadow falls over him and a sweating bottle of Shiner hovers in his peripheral vision. He tilts his head up and grins.

“My man,” he says, taking the beer from Liam’s outstretched hand. He clinks the bottle against Liam’s, takes a long pull. All of them except June are technically underage, with Alex’s eighteenth birthday back in March, but the adults on this trip seem to mostly turn a blind eye as long as they don’t get too crazy, a very Regina George’s mother “I’d rather you do it in the house” kind of attitude. Alex supposes it could be a scandal if photos were leaked to the press, but he’ll let the publicists get an ulcer about that.

Liam sits cross-legged next to him on the beach. It’s pretty awesome that Alex was able to bring him along on this trip — he doesn’t usually get much opportunity to include his best friend in this part of his life. Nora had said “bring your people,” and Liam is one of his people. Simple as that.

So Alex drinks, lets the sun warm his skin and takes it all in — the beach, the lake, his favorite people. The campaign has been so hectic, and he loves it, but it’s also nice to just have this for the weekend. Back at the cabin, his mom will be grilling burgers and chicken, with Leo as a capable _sous chef_. They’ll eat chili-dusted elotes and a patriotic dessert of Vermont berries with fresh whipped cream. They’ll break out some decks of cards, the older adults will go to bed, and Alex’s crew will keep the party going until dawn.

But first, Alex wants to break the too-calm surface of that lake. He sets his beer in the sand, shucks his shirt as he walks to the water’s edge.

“Y’all coming?”

He hears Liam huff a laugh behind him, turns just in time to catch the balled-up T-shirt that was thrown at his back. They charge into the lake, whooping at how cold the water is, and Alex tackles Liam around his mid-section to submerge them both.

“Fuck you,” Liam sputters when they surface, but he’s laughing. The girls wade in a little more gradually — Alex would have dunked June, too, but she’s still wearing the designer shades she got for her birthday and he’s not a _complete_ asshole.

There’s something kind of perfect and magical about swimming in the reservoir – it reminds Alex of the trips out to his dad’s lake house, of childhood, of endless summers and zero responsibilities. He floats on his back for a while, watching shreds of clouds drift and dissolve.

He’s bored, is the thing.

“Hey, Nora,” he says, standing up in waist-deep water. “What’s that house over there?”

Nora stares at the small island Alex is pointing at. It’s overgrown, but through the trees you can see a building of some sort, white-washed in the few places the paint hasn’t chipped off the wood. The corrugated metal roof is almost completely rusted out.

“Oh,” she says, shrugging. “That’s the Shack.”

“Hmm. Need more history than that. I know you’ve got the goods.”

Nora blinks a few times, and Alex can almost see the way her brain shifts into random-knowledge mode.

“It was the spring of 1929. The Great Flood of 1927 was only two years prior, which killed over eighty people in the region. A man named Frederick Benson bought the island for just $50 and built his house there. He used a rope-and-pulley cable car to get back and forth from the island. In 1965, he sold the island to the Central Vermont Humane Society. They moved the animal shelter only ten years later, and the Shack has been unoccupied ever since.”

June’s eyes are getting wider as Nora tells the story. She’ll probably turn it into an article for some online publication.

“So, no murders,” Alex says.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Damn. Well. That’s still pretty cool.”

“Maybe it’s haunted with cat ghosts,” Liam offers, and Alex grins. He gets him.

Between the two of them, a wild tale is spun of the souls of animals that howl and roam the island at night, leaving paw prints in the dirt that disappear when the sun rises.

“The Humane Society is a no-kill shelter,” June reminds them, but they’re no longer listening.

Alex suggests that they use the Hollerans’ canoes to row out there and explore the island, but the girls aren’t as into the idea, and it’s almost dinner time.

After the barbecue, berries and cards, after June and Nora fall asleep curled in toward each other on the leather sectional, Alex and Liam slip out onto the deck, down to the pier and push off in one of the canoes.

If Alex’s mother knew he was doing this, she’d kill him.

The island is even more overgrown than it looks, a tangle of tall weeds and untrimmed trees and bushes that Alex and Liam push through with some difficulty to get to the shack. They’re sure to be covered with tiny scratches and eaten alive by mosquitoes, but they’re Texas boys. They’ll live.

There’s no front door any longer, only a dark opening that Alex shines his flashlight into, the beam landing on shadowy shapes covered in moth-eaten cloth. He whips off one of them and coughs into the resulting dust cloud. It’s just a small table, probably part of a reception area. The place is pretty well cleaned out, and any remaining papers have yellowed and crumbled beyond recognition. Still, there’s an illicit thrill in exploring an abandoned old building, haunted by a strange kind of nostalgia if not any actual ghosts.

“Hope you’ve had your tetanus shot,” Alex jokes, stepping over a piece of wood studded with rusty nails.

“I work at my uncle’s ranch every summer,” Liam shoots back. “‘Course I’ve had it.”

Alex tries to count back how many years ago his last one was. He’s positive his mom would have made sure he’s up to date, but also she’s been a little busy. It’s too late to worry about it now, though, so he doesn’t.

They poke their way around the remaining rooms. It’s a pretty small building, so it’s no wonder the animal shelter didn’t stay there long, besides it being a really inconvenient-ass location. One of the rooms in the back has been stripped of all furnishings, and there are rust stains in a sort of rectangular grid around the cement floor. A chill runs down Alex’s back, despite the warm night — this must have been where they kept the animals, where the metal cages were.

“Meow,” a falsetto voice trills by his ear, and Alex nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Oh, Jesus. Fuck off.”

Liam cracks up laughing as Alex shoves him away, the beams of their flashlight illuminating the room erratically.

Once the novelty wears off, they head back to the canoe. The moon has risen since they paddled out, a nearly full circle that reflects silvery ribbons across the reservoir.

“Hm,” says Liam, looking up at it, which for him is close enough to commenting on its beauty. Alex looks, too. There’s something caught in his chest, like a bubble that’s threatening to burst, but never does.

“Your mom,” Liam says after a minute. “She’s gonna win this, huh.”

It’s not even close to a sure thing. The margin of error on the polls, the swing states, the misogyny that follows any woman running for the country’s highest office, which up to now only men have held.

And yet.

“I believe in her,” says Alex. “I think it’s time.”

Liam nods. The canoe slices through the water as they row in silence. When they reach the pier, Alex hops out first and offers Liam a steadying hand. Lights are on in the cabin’s ground floor and music drifts down the driveway.

“Looks like the girls found their second wind,” says Alex.

Liam laughs, low in his chest. They’re still standing pretty close, though their hands have dropped.

“Hey, Alex.” Liam’s chewing on his lip and scrubbing one hand over his stubble, a nervous habit. “Can we talk about something? I wanted to —”

The music gets louder, dance beats washing over them. Alex turns and faces the cabin.

“Oh my god. Is that Lil Jon? Oh, hell yes.”

Alex runs up the drive and discovers that Nora and June have started a two-person dance party. They cheer as he comes into the great room, hand him a shot, and he spins Nora around as she laughs and laughs.

It’s much later that he realizes Liam never followed him inside.

_6_

Four more years of Claremont. The raucous cheering has tapered off, there’s no more speeches. A band plays on a side stage, and some people are up there dancing, but most others have drifted into their own circles of conversation again, drinks in hand.

Liam and Spencer have run into some friends of Spencer’s mom from back in the Congress campaigning days — they’re making polite small-talk when Alex weaves his way through the crowd, catching himself on Liam’s elbow before he almost collides with him. Again.

“Liam, I need to borrow your car,” Alex says, breathless. He holds up his hands defensively, but he’s smiling, turning up that Han Solo charm. “I know, I know. I swear we’ll make it up to you. Beer, whiskey, whatever you want, man.”

The sleeves of his bomber jacket are pushed up and there’s confetti in his hair, star-shaped metallic foil in red, white and blue — a crown for Texas’s First Son.

“First of all,” Liam drawls, “I didn’t drive here.”

Alex visibly deflates. It takes Liam a second to remember why this is a problem — the President of the United States’ son can’t just call an Uber. Alexander Claremont-Diaz thrives on reckless spontaneity, and there’s probably a whole ordeal involved in getting a car, Secret Service detail, the works. In this moment, at _this_ party, it’s probably not even possible.

“We biked here,” Liam continues. “Six pack of Shiner when you bring the bikes back. I’ll text you the combinations.”

“Oh my god, you’re the best. Thank you.” Alex is about to take off again, that wild look in his eyes. At his shoulder, his boyfriend has appeared — you know, the fucking prince of England. Wales. Whatever.

(Of course Alex, after coming out as bisexual, would be dating the most ridiculously implausible man you can think of. He apparently only has serious relationships with the daughters and sons of heads of state — if you look up “extra” in the dictionary, you’ll find Alex’s smirking portrait right next to the definition.)

Liam looks back and forth between them, one eyebrow raised until Alex remembers his manners.

“Oh shit, sorry.” There it is. “Liam, this is Henry. Henry, my best friend Liam. From high school.”

“It’s a pleasure,” says Henry, extending his hand. He’s all rosy-cheeked British good looks and sparkling blue eyes, and Liam would be lying if he said he wasn’t a _little_ starstruck.

“Oh, and this is his boyfriend. Spencer, yeah?” Alex is too much of a networking schmoozer to not get this right — Liam still appreciates the effort, though.

Spencer also shakes hands with the prince, grinning from ear to ear. It’s cute.

“Nice to meet you, Henry. My sympathies for putting up with this guy.” Liam tilts his head toward Alex, who lightly cuffs him on the shoulder.

“You shit,” he says, laughing.

And it’s good. They’re good. A knot in Liam’s chest that he has carried all these years has slowly been picked at and untangled. Alex will always be the first boy he felt _that_ way about — his first a lot of things, even if they were dumbasses who were in denial about what they were doing. They eventually found the people who fit with them, who made them want to be better.

“Alright, you two. Get out of here. If June asks where you went, I don’t know anything.”

Alex grins, grateful. They disappear back into the crowd, out a side door and into the November night.

**Author's Note:**

> When I finished reading RWRB about a month and a half ago, all I wanted to do was write a canon-compliant “missing scene”-type story about Alex and Liam. But the book had been out a while, and I was worried it had “been done” a bunch already, so I checked AO3… and was shocked to find that there were ZERO stories about Liam! But he appears all throughout the book and is honestly pivotal to Alex’s story in my mind.
> 
> Interestingly, in the past month two other stories featuring Liam (and Spencer) finally popped up on here. Maybe quarantine has us all thinking about high school crushes and first loves? Who knows. But I hope you enjoyed, and hope that I did their story justice.


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